


SPLASH RELEASE

by AndiiV



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Anal, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, M/M, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2080293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndiiV/pseuds/AndiiV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets everything he ever dreamed about, and a little more besides. Written for the prompt, Inappropriate Places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SPLASH RELEASE

Speech day was a new one on Dean. Then again, the whole concept of private education was off his radar. The unique schooling he’d received served him well enough and, unlike Sam, he hadn’t minded shuffling between high schools until he was old enough to bail. It was part of the job. It earned him a GED, a give ‘em hell attitude and he was okay with it. 

St. Martin’s College for Boys was a few miles outside Oakland, CA. A high end feeder school for UC Berkeley with an annual fee which made Dean’s eyes water. The boys attending this little piece of heaven were rich, privileged, cossetted and groomed for success from the off. It was an institution and lifestyle which seldom crossed paths with hunters, until the weirdness started.

Sam found the case and packed them off to California in the middle of a heatwave. Dean could deal with that; he had no problem with the hordes of scantily clad chicks and they certainly had no problem with him. His hook up rate was approaching a new personal best.

He shrugged out of his Fed’s jacket as he trudged across the school playing field. He loosened his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves. There wasn’t a soul about; every pupil and member of staff was currently in the main hall. As Dean understood it, Speech Day was utter hell. And he should know. The idea of being trapped for three hours, listening to some dreary ass big up the establishment and hand out bullshit prizes was as alien to Dean as, well… aliens. 

“Freaky, fucking Friday.”

The outdoor pool was the scene of the first incident and it rocked the school to its foundations. A sixteen year old kid, the star turn on the diving team, dropped his kecks on the high board, mooned the audience and proceeded to defecate into the pool. The image of shitting from a great height, literally, tickled Dean no end. The spectators hadn’t been so impressed. 

The shit hit the fan during an interstate diving competition; teachers, parents, pupils, governors and sports scouts all got the proverbial eyeful and the kid was summarily expelled. He was reinstated three days later; contrite, mortified and claiming to have had no control over his actions. Dean speculated on how much shit he’d be eating to win back credibility. Sam wasn’t amused.

Two weeks after that the school hosted a talent night. Pupils, parents, teachers and governors sat through a motley selection of half-baked acts. Tucked among the agonising parade of future _X Factor_ rejects was a four piece electric band called _Richard’s Lunchbox_. Dean laughed out loud at the name. 

_Richard’s Lunchbox_ took the stage and ground out a turgid version of Elvis’s _Hound Dog_. Halfway in, the drummer dialled up a new tempo and they launched into the Sex Pistols’ _God Save the Queen_. The lyrics were shocking to that particular audience, even after thirty years, but the band went deep into character. ‘Johnny’ snarled, spit and cursed at the crowd; some of the ‘gob’ made it to the third row and the headmaster took a bullseye. ‘Sid’, meanwhile, yanked off his tee-shirt and carved up his chest with a razor blade. ‘Steve’ and ‘Paul’ held the song together like pros but they never got to the end. All four Pistols were fired, all reinstated a few days later. All claimed they had no control over their actions. 

The third incident was Dean’s favourite. Five days ago the drama society unveiled their production of _Romeo and Juliet_. Nobody minded that all roles were filled by boys; not until the balcony scene when Romeo climbed the trellis, grabbed Juliet and proceeded to snog his face off. Juliet reciprocated by ripping off Romeo’s shirt and starting in on some nipple action as the curtain fell prematurely. The two boys were expelled. So far they hadn’t come back. 

Dean was grinning as he approached the swimming pool. God, he wished he’d been there. Whatever was causing the incidents was no laughing matter though. Sam discovered that when he interviewed the victims, posing as a counsellor. They’d all felt compelled to perform the uncharacteristic and unsavoury actions but couldn’t explain why. Further probing revealed how they’d _thought_ about doing those things, but didn’t dare do it for real. The boys were facing months of therapy, parental wrath and the ridicule of their schoolmates. It wasn’t something you’d do for kicks.

Dean’s first instinct was the Trickster. This had his MO stamped all over it, except none of the kids involved were bullies. Sam had countered with spirit possession, maybe witchcraft and tasked Dean with searching the school buildings while he got stuck into some research. 

Dean was happy to oblige; it got him out of the stuffy motel room and let him take a gander at how the other half lived. He had his fake FBI badge but so far hadn’t needed it. Speech Day was a perfect diversion, allowing him to walk the school unchallenged and unhindered. He’d already checked the music and drama rooms, sweeping for EMF and searching for hex bags. He found zip. After the pool he planned to check the main hall. Part of him was hoping something excruciatingly, embarrassingly spectacular would go down on stage. Whatever was doing this had a definite liking for public displays.

Sweat was running off him by the time he reached the pool complex. The calm, blue water was inviting enough to make him consider stripping off and diving right in. A naked Fed powering through the lanes would fit right in with the current mood and Dean chuckled as he stooped to splash cool water on his face and rake it through his hair. Invigorated, he made short work of the outside area, checking the bleachers, pool edges, even the undersides of the diving boards. Still zip. He made a brief tour of the changing rooms, humid and unpleasant, then headed towards the only other building on the site. It looked like an office, it had a sign marked Private on the door. It might as well have said _Dean Winchester, come on down._

Dean was reaching for his lock picks as he turned the handle and was surprised to find the door unlocked. There was a young guy inside, lounging in a chair, feet propped on the desk and checking the centrefold of a skin mag. To Dean’s absolute chagrin, it was a gay skin mag. His face burned and he jammed his hands in his pockets, fidgeting nervously, momentarily at a loss for words.

The dude in the chair grinned and turned the mag round. Dean got an eyeful of Mister August; black and proud.

“I give him a 9.5. Hell, I’d give him _anything_. What do you think?”

Dean blush deepened. “Uh, not my scene, man.”

The dude raised an eyebrow.

“You sure? ‘Cause the way you’re playing pocket pool there…”

Dean hastily pulled his hands from his pockets but the dude’s eyes remained fixed on his crotch. He coughed pointedly, which broke the awkward tension and the dude came round the desk. He was your typical California surfer type and very easy on the eye. Not that Dean was looking. 

“Sorry about that; just having a little fun. I’m Roger Daley.”

Dean choked down a laugh. “Come again?”

Wrong choice of words. The eyes were back on his crotch, twinkling with mischief.

“My folks had no idea what they’d done, seriously. Call me Roj, it’s safer.”

He stuck out a hand and Dean shook, dropping it fast as static electricity snapped between them. Roj chuckled. 

“Aren’t you a live wire…”

Dean pulled out his badge and flipped it open.

“I’m a Federal Agent, investigating recent events at the school.”

“That crap?” Roj sounded amused but studied the badge intently. “Why’s the FBI interested in schoolboy pranks, Agent, uh… Bon Scott?”

“I’m not at liberty to say”. Dean deadpanned it. “It’s a specialist department, we don’t like to make a noise.”

Roj nodded sagely. “Like the _X Files_?”

“More like the Why Files.” Dean put the badge away. “For example, why aren’t _you_ attending Speech Day, Mister Daley? I understand it’s mandatory.”

“You make it sound like doing time”. Roj laughed. “Between you and me, that’s _exactly_ what it’s like.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Why aren’t you there, Sir?”

Roj shrugged. “I’m an intern. That loosely translates as do what the fuck you like ‘cause they don’t pay you diddly.”

He crossed to a corner of the room which housed a small refrigerator.

“Beer?”

Dean knew it wasn’t a good idea but he was hot, thirsty and rattled.

“Twist my arm, I guess.”

Roj bent over the unit. He was wearing cut off sweat pants which were about two sizes too small. How had Dean not noticed that before? As Roj rummaged in the fridge he found himself contemplating the perfect bubble butt. The pants were riding low, revealing a hint of crack and Dean’s mind went to a place which surprised the hell out of him. He tried to avert his eyes but they were drawn back like magnets. 

“It’s rude to stare, agent.”

Roj turned round, holding two beers and now Dean’s attention was on the bulge in his pants. It looked like the guy had a friggin’ boner. Was that for him? Dean didn’t know what to think, where to look and he was blushing again. Roj thrust a cold bottle into his hand, pressed the other to Dean’s burning cheek.

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a natural reaction when a guy sees something he likes. Just look at you, big boy!”

Dean glanced down and was mortified to see his own boner taking shape. A strong arm snaked round his waist, deft fingers caressed him through the sweaty dampness of his shirt and Roj’s voice was husky in his ear.

“How about we get you out of this wet thing…”

Dean took a step back and hit the wall. Roj held his ground and watched. Dean knew he was being mentally undressed and, shockingly, his fingers were aching to finish the job. He took a sip of beer, ended up draining the whole bottle and the alcohol gave him a moment of clarity. 

“What kind of mojo you laying on me here?”

“Mojo? All I’m doing is giving you what you want, sweetheart. Shall I call you Dean?”

“What the…?”

Dean went for his gun, but he wasn’t packing. A .45 semi, a school full of kids… not a smart idea. He could feel Roj rooting about inside his head, checking out his fantasies and he didn’t like it one bit. 

“Just for the record, I ain’t gay.”

“I know you’re not, but you still want my mouth on your dick.” Roj smiled. “It’s only natural to be curious, Dean.”

Dean scowled. “This ain’t even close to natural so stop fucking saying it.”

Roj moved in close and pressed him against the wall. As his hand cupped Dean’s crotch a chess piece slid into place. 

“ _You’re_ behind all that freaky shit. What the hell are you?”

Roj’s fingers were on his fly now, unzipping it carefully.

“I’m the Lord of Impulse. I draw back the curtain of inhibition, allow secret desires to take flight in the real world.”

He popped the button on Dean’s pants and slid them down, stroked his fingertips across the straining material of his boxers. Dean couldn’t move, didn’t want to move. He ground out the words with an effort.

“This is a spell. You’re hexing me.”

Roj chuckled. “It’s all your own magic. If you didn’t dream about this, it wouldn’t be happening. I can see _everything_ , Dean; every fantasy in that messed up head of yours.”

Dean’s breath hitched in his throat. He found that invasion of privacy terrifying. He also found it electrifying.

Roj’s fingers crept up inside his boxers, nails caressing the crease of flesh where his ball sack met his inner thigh. Fireworks exploded in Dean’s brain and he threw his head back, cracking it against the wall. This was his special place, his most sensitive spot but chicks didn’t get it, didn’t know how to touch him right... He gasped and Roj chuckled. 

“Looks like we found your G spot, G-Man.”

He moved away and Dean groaned. “You gonna tease me to death?”

“You’re going to do something for me now. You’re going to strip… Slowly.”

Dean gaped and Roj clapped his hands briskly.

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

Dean’s fingers were trembling as he worked the buttons on his shirt and tossed it to the ground. His boots and pants followed but as he reached for his boxers, Roj held up a finger.

“That’s a present I’ll unwrap myself.”

He leaned against the desk, pulling nonchalantly on his beer. A smile was twitching at his lips.

“We’re going to do this _exactly_ the way you want it, Dean. Fetch your handcuffs.”

Dean couldn’t remember where he’d put his jacket and looked round for a moment before finding it slung over the back of a chair. He snagged the cuffs and Roj’s eyes moved to the ceiling. Dean saw a sturdy hook right above him. He smiled as an image took hold. 

“Me or you?”

“It’s all about you, G-Man.”

Roj took the cuffs, threaded the chain through the hook and winked.

“Assume the position.”

Dean raised his hands and Roj snapped the cuffs onto his wrists. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

The reality of the scene was way hotter than Dean’s fantasies. He was restricted, helpless, literally in the hands of another man and his dick was so hard it ached. Roj was studying him like on oil painting.

“Tell me what you want, Dean, and don’t hold back. Remember I’m the Lord of Impulse.”

Dean scowled. “Why don’t you just read my friggin’ mind?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Dean closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. 

“I want… I need you to blow me. I’m about to explode here.”

Roj grinned. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

Dean looked at his boner, practically bursting through the fabric of his shorts. 

“You kidding me?”

Roj chuckled, dropped to his knees and teased Dean’s boxers down until the head of his dick was exposed. He flicked at the slit with his tongue until Dean was writhing and cursing. The boxers came off and Roj licked and sucked his balls. He pulled the sack aside and ran his tongue along the sweet spot until Dean was yanking at the cuffs, growling with pleasure and frustration. Roj’s voice barely registered in his sex addled brain.

“Beg me to suck you dry.”

Dean managed to retain a shred of dignity. “I don’t beg for anything.”

Roj got to his feet. “You want to test that theory?”

Dean lifted his head defiantly. “You bet.”

He soon regretted the decision. Roj sat behind the desk, drank beer and described, intimately, what he had in store for his captive. Dean wanted it so bad he was pleading for mercy in two minutes flat. He didn’t get any. Roj continued talking; his descriptions getting more detailed, more vivid and Dean shot his load with enough force to hit the ceiling. He never knew he could do that. 

Roj let him cool off before making good on everything he’d said. There was ball play, cock teasing and one incredible blowing technique. He kept Dean on the edge for half an hour before allowing him to come. It was as forceful as the first orgasm and just as exhausting. 

Dean was beginning to lose it but when Roj moved behind him, habit made him twist round to look. Roj didn’t appreciate it and used Dean’s own tie to blindfold him. That made everything more intense as sensation and imagination combined with a heightened sense of awareness. Practiced fingers entered his ass, spreading him wide and then Roj’s tongue joined the party, slicking him up for the main attraction. Dean was no stranger to anal; there were plenty of chicks liked that kind of thing but being filled by a hot, throbbing dick was a lot different to a dildo. Dean found it intoxicating, exhilarating and he came like a train. 

When Roj unlocked the cuffs his legs gave out and he dropped to the floor; sweating, panting and utterly spent. Roj removed the blindfold, knelt between his thighs and fondled his dick which, incredibly, still had enough life in it to respond.

“You’re a fascinating playmate, G-Man, and we’re just getting started.”

He gripped Dean’s dick more firmly, started up a slow, steady rhythm.

“How about we cool off in the pool while I make you come again?”

Dean was surfing a wave of ecstasy which seemed endless. He could barely think straight, but old instincts died hard. 

“We’ll be seen.”

Something occurred to him and he gazed at Roj.

“It’s part of your MO, right? Public humiliation?”

“Only if they deserve it.”

Dean tried to process that information. “And I don’t deserve it?”

Roj shrugged. “Not sure yet, but I keep my options open.”

He pointed at something in the corner and Dean noticed the discreetly placed webcam. 

“You’ve been filming this?”

Roj grinned. “In hi-def, baby.”

Dean stared at him. “You know I’m a hunter, right?”

“I’ve been in your head. I know everything about you, Dean Winchester.”

“Then you know if that footage goes public, you ain’t leaving me any options.”

Roj considered for a moment. “You come for me three more times and it goes nowhere but my private collection. Think you can handle that?”

Dean’s dick twitched, the start of a slow burn towards another spectacular orgasm. 

“How about this? You get me off three times and you get a pass. I won’t gank your freaky ass.” 

Roj smiled and picked up his pace on Dean’s dick; found a stronger, faster rhythm. 

“Got yourself a deal.”


End file.
